Little Things
by Diane Coffin
Summary: CABIN PRESSURE - The men of MJN have a flight deck conversation about romance. (Martin/Douglas pre-slash)


Title: Little Things

Author: Diane

Summary: The men of MJN have a flight deck conversation about romance.

Rating: T

Pairing: Douglas/Martin pre-slash

**Little Things**

[Cabin door opens.]

**Arthur:**

Here we are, gents! Coffees for pilots.

**Martin:**

Mmm, thank you, Arthur.

**Arthur:**

Brilliant take-off, Douglas! Best one yet.

**Douglas:**

Best one yet? Do you think so? It was rather flawless, I suppose. Though I don't know how that

makes it any better than my usual. Do you, Martin?

**Martin:**

[mutters indistinctly, and sips coffee]

**Arthur:**

It was just really great! I mean… have you ever noticed that bit, in a take-off,

when you get that pressy-back feeling and you think: oh wow?

**Douglas:**

Yes, I have noticed that bit. So has Martin. Sometimes he still says wow.

**Martin:**

I do not.

**Douglas:**

Do too.

**Martin:**

Not always.

**Arthur:**

Well, your take-off today was extra_-extra_-pressy-back. Big wow! My favorite.

**Douglas:**

So glad you enjoyed it.

**Arthur:**

We should land and do it again.

**Martin:**

Yes, Arthur, it was breath-taking. Thank you. You can stop flattering him now.

**Douglas:**

Oh, Martin. Leave him be, he's fine.

**Arthur:**

Am I fine? Because if I can stay for a bit, chaps, I was thinking… bing bong.

**Douglas:**

I'm sure you were.

**Arthur:**

No, I mean: _bing bong_.

**Martin:**

[laughs, teasing] Who's there?

**Arthur**:

Right!

**Martin:**

What?

**Arthur:**

Who's there!

**Douglas:**

What?

**Arthur:**

Skip got it right! "Bing bong." "Who's there?" Like knock knock, who's there! You know:

knock knock, who's there, me, me who, something funny. Only: _bing bong_!

**Douglas:**

Good Lord.

**Arthur:**

I've invented bing bong jokes!

**Martin:**

Oh, no. Have you really?

**Arthur:**

I have! And they're brilliant!

**Douglas:**

Well. That remains to be seen. Bing bong.

**Arthur:**

[eagerly] Who's there?

**Douglas:**

You tell me.

**Arthur:**

You-tell-me who?

**Douglas:**

No, _you_ tell me who. They're your jokes.

**Arthur:**

Wait. What? I thought I knew how these worked.

**Martin:**

[chiding] Douglas.

**Arthur:**

[to himself] …you tell me… you tell me who…

**Douglas:**

My, this is a fiendishly challenging form you've invented, Arthur. Go on, take another try.

**Arthur:**

Okay... [tentatively] Bing bong.

**Martin:**

Who's there?

**Arthur:**

Ooh! It worked!

**Douglas:**

Ooh, it worked, who?

**Arthur:**

What? Wait.

**Martin:**

[scolding] _Douglas._

**Arthur:**

[eagerly] Douglas who?

**Douglas:**

Douglas Richardson.

**Arthur:**

Ha ha ha! …Oh, wait.

**Martin:**

'Douglas Richardson' is a dreadful punch-line.

**Douglas:**

Too true. 'Martin Crieff' will always be a better one.

**Martin:**

Hey!

**Arthur:**

I'm confused.

**Martin:**

I'm not. Mr. Brilliant Take-off is simply toying with you, Arthur.

Now, go ahead. Tell me a bing bong joke. And you shush, Douglas.

**Douglas:**

Shushing, Captain.

**Arthur:**

Okay. Bing Bong.

**Martin:**

Who's there?

**Arthur:**

Doctor.

**Martin:**

Doctor who?

**Arthur:**

Doctor Who! Ha ha! In the TARDIS! Because we're flying, and he's flying, and it's a bing bong joke in an aeroplane!

**Martin:**

Ahaha, yes. Very funny, indeed. Wasn't it funny, Douglas?

**Douglas:**

Still shushing, Captain.

**Martin:**

Well, un-shush.

**Douglas:**

Un-shushing, Captain. Very funny, Arthur.

**Arthur:**

I know! I thought it up in the night. If I keep thinking in the night, I'll have a million of 'em.

**Douglas:**

A _million_. What fun.

**Arthur:**

And even though I'm the inventor of bing bong jokes, I don't have to be the only thinker of them.

You chaps could do it, too. Like one of your word games. And mum.

**Douglas:**

Lovely thought, very generous, but I could never presume to master the bing bong joke.

**Arthur:**

You'd get the hang of it, Douglas. You're very clever.

**Douglas:**

That's true. I am.

**Martin:**

[muttering] God.

**Arthur:**

You're clever, too, Martin!

**Douglas:**

He is, isn't he? As clever as he is _lucky_.

**Martin:**

Ha bloody ha.

**Arthur:**

You're the two cleverest chaps I know! And I wonder…_maybe_… could you give me some advice?

**Douglas:**

Oh, most certainly we can. What is it, my boy? Career advice? Captain Crieff is a notorious negotiator of salaries.

The fairer sex? Our naughty Captain's skills are legendary.

**Martin:**

[annoyed] Yeah, well… need help with a divorce? Douglas has had _three_ of those.

**Arthur:**

I'm… not married, Skip.

**Douglas:**

He's not married, Martin.

**Martin:**

[snappish] I know that.

**Douglas:**

Nice try, though.

**Arthur:**

But… it is about a girl, in fact.

**Douglas:**

Is it really?

**Arthur:**

Yes. Her name is Bitsy. And she's

**ALL:**

_Brilliant._

**Arthur:**

Yeah! Have you met her?

**Martin:**

[kindly] No. We just guessed.

**Douglas:**

And what makes young Bitsy so brilliant, pray tell.

**Arthur:**

Well, she makes me laugh, and she's pretty, and she's nice to cats,

and she has three horses that aren't bitey, and she's allergic to strawberries.

**Douglas:**

Ooh, a strawberry allergy. Irresistible.

**Martin:**

She sounds lovely, Arthur.

**Arthur:**

She is! And I asked her to go out with me, and she said yes,

and I want it to be _really_ special, so I need your help.

**Martin:**

How can we help?

**Douglas:**

Ah, m'lad, are you perhaps proposing a romantic Cyrano de Bergerac scheme?

Silver-tongued second-hand wooing of the fair Roxane?

**Arthur:**

She's called Bitsy.

**Douglas:**

Indeed.

**Arthur:**

I don't think she'd like it if I called her Roxane.

**Douglas:**

Certainly not. So, no Cyrano scenario.

**Arthur:**

I'm…not sure what you mean. All I want to know, really, is _what_ is an absolutely perfect date,

and _how_ do you make someone fall in love with you.

**Martin:**

[squeaking a little] _That's_ all?

**Douglas:**

[blasé] Oh, that's all. Child's play. Which, since we're talking about Arthur, is fortunate.

**Arthur:**

Hooray! Oh, wait. _Hey._

**Douglas:**

No offense.

**Martin:**

You find it easy, do you? Arranging ideal dates? Making people fall madly in love with you?

**Douglas:**

Of course, Martin. [false innocence] Don't you?

**Martin:**

[sarcastic] Yeah. Child's play. A _baby_ could do it.

**Arthur:**

I knew I came to the right place!

**Douglas:**

The 'cockpit of love.'

**Martin:**

More like the flight deck of fantasy.

**Douglas:**

Not all of us have to resort to fantasy, Martin.

**Martin:**

Fine, fine. Congratulations on your active… cockpit.

**Douglas:**

Thank you.

**Arthur:**

So, Douglas, you first. If I want to do the _best date ever_, what do I do? What do you think is _perfect_?

**Douglas:**

Arthur, Arthur, you are already asking the wrong questions. Allow me to turn this back to you,

for Douglas Richardson's lesson number one in the art of seduction. What do _you_ think would be a perfect date?

**Arthur:**

Umm, probably… five rounds of crazy golf, with birthday cake and my gran's ice cream for dinner. And then extra cake

for the winner of crazy golf, who would be me, because I am brilliant at crazy golf. Oh, wow, this _will_ be perfect! I can't wait! Thanks, Douglas!

**Douglas:**

Not so fast, _mon_ _protégé. _A few more questions, if you please. First, does young Bitsy enjoy competitive crazy golf?

**Arthur:**

I don't know.

**Douglas:**

Does she enjoy meals that consist solely of puddings?

**Arthur:**

I don't know.

**Douglas:**

Arthur, remind me, what flavour of ice cream is your gran's specialty?

**Arthur:**

Strawberry.

**Douglas:**

Yes. So, from these simple questions, can you extrapolate the key point of lesson number one?

**Arthur:**

What's extrapolate?

**Martin:**

Infer. Deduce. Surmise.

**Arthur:**

Hm?

**Martin:**

Guess.

**Arthur:**

Oh! Then… no. What's the point of lesson one?

**Douglas:**

Give me strength. The lesson, _child_, is that it doesn't matter what _I_ think is the perfect date,

or what _you_ think, or what _Martin_ thinks. The only thing that matters is what the target of your seduction-

**Martin:**

Ahem.

**Douglas:**

-the object of your affection thinks.

**Arthur:**

Oh! I see! So I should ask Bitsy what to do?

**Douglas:**

You could. But what's far better is _not_ to ask, but simply to _know_.

**Arthur:**

But I _don't_ know! That's why I'm asking!

**Martin:**

What he means, Arthur, is that you should think about Bitsy and plan something especially

with her in mind. What have you learnt about her? What does she truly enjoy?

**Arthur:**

Well, like I said, she truly enjoys cats, horses, being nice, and not strawberries. Oh! So, I won't feed her gran's ice cream.

**Douglas:**

Good plan.

**Arthur:**

But…is that all? If our perfect date is petting cats, riding horses, and not eating ice cream together,

then we've already been perfect-dating for a month.

**Douglas:**

Which brings us to lesson two.

**Arthur:**

Wait, I ought to take notes.

Douglas:

No need. Lesson two may be summed up thus: observe.

**Arthur:**

Observe what?

**Douglas:**

Observe _her_.

**Arthur:**

Doing what?

**Martin:**

Ew, lesson two isn't a peeping tom thing, is it? Because I think that's wrong.

**Douglas:**

No, Martin, there is no _peeping_. Lesson two is simple: Observe. Listen. Attend.

**Martin:**

Analyse weakness. Calculate. Strategise.

**Douglas:**

Martin. This is _Arthur_ we're talking about.

**Martin:**

It was _you_ I was talking about.

**Douglas:**

…Fair enough.

**Arthur:**

So, all I have to do look at Bitsy and listen to her.

**Douglas:**

Yes, and _pay close attention_.

**Martin:**

Douglas. This is _Arthur_ we're talking about.

**Arthur:**

Hey! I pay attention!

**Douglas:**

I'm sure you do. So _think_. Think beyond the obvious kittens and ponies. Has she mentioned things in passing? Favourite foods,

flowers, places to travel? Favourite colour, or book, or song? What have you observed? Has she a passion for sport, or art?

_Paying attention_, Arthur, is an enormous turn-on. If you can plan a date that shows you've truly been listening,

your young lover will eat from your hand.

**Arthur:**

Wow. Like a horse.

**Douglas:**

Eh… yes. Somewhat. So ask yourself: What are the _little_ things you know about her?

She'll be very flattered if you've noticed the little things.

**Arthur:**

Right. The little things. Little… things. I may need to think about that for a bit.

Teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy things. …Bitsy things! About Bitsy!

**Douglas:**

…Right.

**Arthur:**

…tiny… things…

**Martin:**

Don't strain yourself, Arthur. You have plenty of time this trip to think it over.

**Arthur:**

What are your tiny things, Martin?

**Douglas:**

All of Martin's things are tiny.

**Martin:**

Hey!

**Douglas:**

Sorry, cheap shot, couldn't resist. Allow _me_ to answer, Arthur. If I were to attempt to woo our fetching young captain—

**Martin:**

[angrily] Douglas, how would you like it if I made jokes about your, your, your—

**Douglas:**

My what?

**Martin:**

—your, your… _you_. Your height, your size, your physical… parts.

**Douglas:**

The size of my parts is not remotely comical, but feel free to exercise your wit.

**Martin:**

Well, maybe I will!

**Douglas:**

[unconcerned] Fine.

**Martin:**

Fine! And my parts aren't small!

**Douglas:**

Oh, Martin, really. Don't be so sensitive. I said I'm sorry. It was just an easy quip.

**Arthur:**

He didn't mean to be mean, Skip. He thinks you're fetching.

**Martin:**

What?

**Arthur:**

Douglas, I want to hear about how you'd woo Martin.

**Martin:**

What?!

**Arthur:**

You got a bit shouty, just as Douglas was going to tell us about the little-things date he would plan for you.

**Martin:**

What?!

**Douglas:**

Too true. You clearly didn't hear me over the furious roar – or shrill whine –

of your wounded pride. I was about to describe your perfect date.

**Martin:**

You were, were you? Like you'd know.

**Douglas:**

Oh, I may be off the mark, certainly. I trust you'll let me know if I am.

**Martin:**

I _will_.

**Douglas:**

Very well. Our day begins thus.

**Arthur:**

Ooh, I'm really excited. Shall I make popcorn?

**Douglas:**

No. Our day, Martin, begins thus: I pick you up rather early, around 8:30 or so. While I enjoy a nice lie-in,

you tend to rise early, especially when in Fitton. Your aged futon has developed a few lumps, and your back hurts if you sleep too long.

**Martin:**

How did you—

**Douglas:**

Hush. I am driving my Lexus, in which you like to ride. The seats adjust easily, and the sound system is excellent –

two things your van cannot boast. I'm playing a CD of American bluegrass, a style of music you secretly fancy, though you don't get to hear it often.

**Martin:**

How—

**Douglas:**

You've wanted to purchase a recording, but you won't spend the money. I'll give you this CD at the end of our date.

I've asked you to dress casually but nicely, and it's given you the opportunity to wear your favourite denims. They're newish,

and they suit you, but they're too nice for man-with-a-vanning, and you rarely wear them on trips because you prefer

to wear your captain's uniform, or variations thereof, whenever you fly. So, a chance to wear your jeans! You're quite comfortable,

yet a bit more fashionable than usual, in a button-down shirt and jacket. Probably in shades of green and brown,

colours that give you confidence, for they flatter your eyes and your hair.

**Martin:**

…flatter…?

**Arthur:**

Wow.

**Douglas:**

We're going for a leisurely drive, and I've brought an excellent dark-roast coffee

along in the car, and several of the lemon scones from Mrs. B's shop.

**Martin:**

I love those!

**Douglas:**

I know. Our destination is no great surprise. It's Duxford, of course, but though you've toured the air museum

several times before, you have always done it alone. You have never gone with a fellow pilot, nor have you

had the pleasure of a private tour from Clive, a staff curator for the museum and a personal friend of mine.

**Martin:**

[faintly] Private tour?

**Douglas:**

Clive provides us a fascinating look behind the scenes, granting rare access to a few of the aeroplanes,

even opportunities for you, Martin, to sit in a vintage cockpit or two. I've coached Clive beforehand to let you do most of the talking.

So instead of spending the day nodding frantically as Clive lectures about aircraft and aviation, you rattle on at us

with obscure trivia and history and interminable anecdotes, and – with gentle smiles –

Clive and I allow it. And we listen. For as long as you choose to speak.

**Martin:**

[soft gasp]

**Arthur:**

Are you all right, Martin? You look fainty.

**Martin:**

I…

**Douglas:**

He's fine, Arthur. To resume: Your passion for flight has sustained you throughout the day, Martin,

but by the end of our lavish tour, you have realized you're famished. We take our leave of Duxford. Your voice has begun to rasp a bit,

as it sometimes does after much talking. I knew that it would, and I planned accordingly. Clive's assistant, who adores me,

has prepared, at my request, a thermos of hot tea with heather honey. You've tasted pure heather honey

one time before in your life, Martin, and it nearly made you weep. You now taste it again.

**Arthur:**

Gosh, that's really sweet, Douglas. Ha! Honey! Sweet!

**Douglas:**

Yes. Well. Young Martin goes quiet for a while, drinking honeyed tea and listening to bluegrass as we drive.

He assumes I'll stop at a pub along the way, or perhaps we'll try the new Italian restaurant back in Fitton, but no.

A far more personal meal has been planned.

**Martin:**

Wha?

**Douglas:**

You see, Arthur, Martin likes Italian food, but he's weary of pasta. He enjoys pub fare, but he grew up on fried fish

and shepherd's pie. What Martin craves, what he truly _yearns_ for, awaits him at my place.

**Arthur:**

Crikey.

**Douglas:**

Steak. A thick, seasoned rib eye steak, a treat he never, ever allows himself due to expense. I am grilling it, flawlessly medium rare,

together with fresh asparagus and mushrooms. Martin is also keen on those, though he thinks of them as indulgences

and won't usually pay the price. All of this is accompanied by my own béarnaise sauce, which Martin has never had before.

I prepare it _exquisitely_. It will bring him to his knees.

**Martin:**

[faint squeak]

**Arthur:**

Golly.

**Douglas:**

And the Napa cabernet sauvignon I have chosen for him is _superb_.

What you may not know about Martin, Arthur, is that he is a secret romantic and a closet sensualist. This succulent meal,

chosen especially for him and served on a candlelit balcony (weather permitting), is the stuff of dreams.

Or it _would_ be the stuff of dreams, if he ever allowed himself to imagine being courted. Martin spends far more time

imagining himself failing at courting others, rather than being wooed himself.

**Martin:**

I—

**Douglas:**

Don't deny it, Martin.

Now, as we sit upon my balcony at our lovely table for two, and as you stammer out your heartfelt praise of my culinary skills,

I smoothly pour more wine for you, and sparkling water for myself. I lift my glass and look into your eyes, and say—

**Arthur:**

"Cheers!"

**Douglas:**

No. I lift my glass and say—

**Arthur:**

"Bottom's up!"

**Douglas:**

Mm, no. No. I look into Martin's eyes, and I simply say, "To you, my captain." And we drink.

**Martin:**

[silence]

**Arthur:**

And then the music swells, and the crowd says, "Ahhh!" and you kiss each other, and—

**Douglas:**

Oh, I think we can fade to black at this point.

**Arthur:**

Aw, Douglas, that was _brilliant_. What a perfect date! Wasn't it perfect, Martin?

**Martin:**

[silence]

**Arthur:**

Anyway, it gives me loads of great ideas for Bitsy, and the nice little sorts of things she might like.

You're really good at this, Douglas! You should teach a class on wooing people in Ipswich!

**Douglas:**

Thank you, Arthur. [thoughtfully] Now you mention it, I have quite successfully wooed a person or two in Ipswich.

**Arthur:**

See? You'd be great! Thanks, chaps, I knew you'd have the best advice. I have lots to think about now.

**Douglas:**

Off you go then, my lad, to ponder these things in your heart. The fair Bitsy shall be as putty in your hands.

**Arthur:**

Putty! Hooray! [The cabin door opens.] Putty's fun. [The cabin door closes.]

[Silence]

**Martin:**

Weather report was a bit iffy around Prague. I think I'll radio ahead for an update.

**Douglas:**

If you like. I'm not concerned, though, and it's my flight.

**Martin:**

Still, better to be prepared, so… so I think I'll call.

**Douglas:**

Okay.

[Silence]

**Douglas:**

Martin, are you all right?

**Martin:**

Of course I am, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine? I'm fine.

**Douglas:**

That's good.

[Silence]

**Douglas:**

Martin, I don't think you're fine.

**Martin:**

[sounding near tears] Well, why would I be? That was cruel, Douglas.

I think it's the meanest thing you've ever done to me.

**Douglas:**

Oh, good heavens, why is that. I've done far "meaner" things, surely, if you're going to

call it that. And anyway, I thought you'd be flattered.

**Martin:**

Flattered. At being dissected and manipulated for a _game_, just to prove you could? And the worst thing is that… [his voice falters]

The _worst_ thing is… Well, you're right, aren't you, I've never imagined someone _wooing_ me, being kind to me, being thoughtful,

and lovely, to _me_. But now – how lucky! – I have a stupid romantic _fantasy_ to torture myself with!

Because no one's ever going to… No one will _ever_… [with sudden disgust]

Like you say, it's the stuff of _dreams_. I'm so, so glad to have _dreams_, Douglas, thank you so _very_ much for that.

**Douglas:**

… You're welcome.

**Martin:**

I didn't mean it! Don't you recognise sarcasm, for god's sake? You're a master of sarcasm,

you'd think you could perceive it when it's pitched in your pompous face!

**Douglas:**

Hm, more like sprayed in my face. You've gone a bit spittlely.

**Martin:**

That's not even a word.

**Douglas:**

It should be.

**Martin:**

[wearily] Fine. Great! Maybe that's our next 'fun' game. Words that aren't words but should be.

**Douglas:**

Sounds viable.

**Martin:**

You'll win, of course.

**Douglas:**

Of course.

**Martin:**

[sighs, sad and resigned] …Agh, my coffee's cold. And my throat hurts. I'm going to make myself some tea.

[nastily] Too bad I don't have any 'pure heather honey' to make me _weep_. I'm off to the galley. Give me a shout if we're about to crash.

[Martin unbuckles his seatbelt and rises.]

**Douglas:**

Flight bag.

**Martin:**

What?

**Douglas:**

There is heather honey in my flight bag.

**Martin:**

What?

**Douglas:**

There's a charming disc of bluegrass music there, as well.

**Martin:**

What?!

**Douglas:**

Oh, lord, not this again. [mockingly] "What, what, what?" I have thoughtful, well-chosen gifts for you

in my flight bag. Please, help yourself to them, as I am rather busy flying an aeroplane.

**Martin:**

You…you… But… why? Why, why? Why?

**Douglas:**

You're rather like a repetitive parrot sometimes, aren't you. I bought gifts for you, Martin, because I _wanted_ to.

Ah, I do so love doing things I _want_ to, it's my favourite.

**Martin:**

But…but…

**Douglas:**

Oh, there is something else I want to do. I've been wondering, Martin. Would you like to go to Duxford with me next week?

I have an old friend who curates there, and he gives a smashing insider's tour. You'd love it.

**Martin:**

Douglas…

**Douglas:**

Do say yes, won't you? Tell you what, to sweeten the deal, I'll do the driving _and_ I'll cook dinner.

I promise to make something you'll especially like. Don't ask for details, now, I want it to be a surprise.

**Martin:**

[silence]

**Douglas:**

…Martin? Perhaps you should sit down. [Martin sits.]

**Martin:**

Is this a joke?

**Douglas:**

No. It isn't.

**Martin:**

Ahhh, um. Wow. Okay. Duxford sounds fun.

**Douglas:**

It will be.

**Martin:**

Yes. Ah. Gosh. Thank you…Douglas.

**Douglas:**

My pleasure. Goodness, Captain, look at you. You seem all… _flustery_.

**Martin:**

[laughs softly] That's not a word.

**Douglas:**

[smiling] It should be.

[Cabin door slams open.]

**Arthur:**

Chaps! Chaps!

**Douglas:**

Arthur! How delightful to see you.

**Arthur:**

I was thinking!

**Douglas:**

Were you?

**Arthur:**

Yes, and… _bing bong_!

**Martin:**

Who's there?

**Arthur:**

Roger!

**Martin:**

Roger who?

**Arthur:**

Roger wilco, over and out! See? _That_ is a classic bing bong joke on an aeroplane.

**Douglas:**

And it is an hilarious one.

**Arthur:**

Ha ha, I know! I have to go back and think of lots more clever ones. And I have to think about Bitsy some more.

_And_ think about getting some dinner on. That's a lot of thinking!

**Martin:**

Arthur, I do believe you're up to the task.

**Arthur:**

Thank you, Skip! Right-o! Off to think! 'Bye, Douglas.

**Douglas:**

_Au revoir_, Arthur. Until we meet again.

[Cabin door closes.]

**Douglas:**

_Elate-able, _isn't he?

**Martin:**

Positively filled with _gleement._

**Douglas:**

He's _exultastic_.

**Martin:**

He's _happyrific_!

**Douglas:**

[satisfied sigh] I think I know the feeling.

~**THE END~**


End file.
